Kristin Hardy - Hot Moves

She made an impatient noise.

He slipped his fingers inside the open back of her dress. “What’s your rush? We’ve got all night.”

SHE COULDN’T TELL HIM that her rush was because she was unable to believe it was real, that she wanted to experience it all before she woke up and realized it was all a dream. That was how it always went. She had girlfriends like Delaney who talked about the orgasms they had in their dreams. It never worked that way for Thea. Oh, sometimes she’d dream of arousal, maybe even of kissing or touching a man. The urgency would build, the anticipation. And then, somehow she’d find herself somewhere else and they’d be gone, no matter how hard she looked, leaving her to wake, empty and wanting.

But Brady’s hands were on her, his fingers tracing the widening triangle at the back of her dress as the fabric fell away. And finally it was completely open, loose against her. He teased them both, his fingertips tracing the groove of her spine, the point where her back flared out to the rounded curve of her ass. And then he slipped his hands up the front of her, tracing over her flat belly, over the slight rise of breasts and into the deep vee of skin revealed by the neckline of her dress.

Thea shivered. He felt goose bumps rise in the wake of his fingertips as they brushed over the sensitive skin. He bent down and traced the line of her neck with the tip of his tongue, searching out the hollow at the base of her throat.

She ran her fingers up into his hair. And with a quick shrug of her shoulders, sent the dress slipping down her arms and cascading to the floor.

“OH, HONEY.” And Brady’s mouth went bone dry. There was the pool of red fabric on the floor and there was Thea, wearing nothing else save a ridiculously small scrap of something silky at her hips and her red stilettos. She was long and lean and lovely, sleek and strong and slightly curved. And he wanted to just stare because she was so beautiful, he wanted to devour her, run his hands and tongue over every inch of her at the same time. So he stood, helpless, while she gave one of those knowing smiles, those female smiles of wisdom as old as the hills and walked forward to slide her fingers under his shirt.

“I think you’re overdressed.” She circled around behind him. “Yes, definitely overdressed,” she murmured and pulled his shirt off over his head.

And then he felt her move up to press her bare breasts against his back and he swore the top of his head was going to blow off. Thea gave a throaty laugh at the noise he made and stepped away. “Now who’s impatient?” She trailed her fingers down his lats as she moved away. “Anyway, I don’t know what you’re so upset about. You’re the one who’s behind. Maybe you ought to get out of those jeans.”

She turned around and walked over to flop down on the couch, lying flat with her arms crossed under her head and her legs kicked up over the arm, those mile-high red heels still on.

Brady watched her a minute, poleaxed.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

Galvanized into action, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and crossed to the couch. Now he was the one who was shaking, out of eagerness. He didn’t know where to start. He wanted every bit of her at once.

THEN SHE LOOKED UP at him, dark-eyed and tempting, and bit her lip. “Are you going to touch me or do I need to do it myself?” she asked, sliding her fingertips down her throat.

Brady dropped to his knees beside the couch and put his hand over hers to stop it. “I think I can take it from there.”

And he did know how to take it, she thought, closing her eyes to better savor the sensations as he licked his way down her chest and over the slight curve of her breasts. The strands of his hair trailed over her skin, making her shiver, making her nipples ache to be touched. He took his time, though, kissing his way inward in a spiral, making her wait, lingering over it while he traced circles over her other breast with his fingertips.

Now it was she who made the inarticulate noise of need. But he wouldn’t be hurried. Instead, he circled his way slowly up the peaks and she watched as her nipples transformed to hard red beads, watched her breasts swell.

Then she closed her eyes and lay her head back to feel as he drew first one nipple, then the other into the wet heat of his mouth, rubbing with his tongue, biting lightly with his teeth to send the sharp twinge through her, followed by slick caresses that had her arching and gasping.

And he moved lower then, tracing his tongue across her belly, kissing, roving at will.

And lower still.

He shifted to press his mouth between her legs, moving them apart with his hands. Her heart hammered like it was trying to work its way out of her chest. Open to him, touch, sight, taste, scent. The skin of her inner thighs was hypersensitive. She felt the brush of his beard, the heat of his breath.

And then his mouth was on her.

Shocking in its heat. Overwhelming in its suddenness. No matter how she’d imagined, how she’d expected, she was nowhere close to the vivid immediacy. His mouth was on her, against her, searching out the most intimate part of her.

Making her gasp.

He didn’t tease, he didn’t make her wait now. He found her with his tongue. Just one touch was enough to have her crying out. But there was more, oh, more as he leaned in, tracing maddening patterns over her clit, stroking it again and again, sending her jolting against him, her hips moving helplessly, her head thrashing back and forth.

Insistent, unrelenting, he took her up until she was wound tight with tension, until every slick caress sent heat washing through her, until she didn’t think she could stand any more. She was poised on the edge, where sensations and senses merged until it seemed as though she could see vivid rainbows of color at his touch, the shades growing darker and more intense until suddenly she was flung over the edge in a wash of blinding white and an intensity of sensation that had her crying out and shuddering and shaking.

It seemed long moments later that it ended. Brady straightened. “Come on,” he whispered and took her hand to pick her up off the couch.

His arms were warm around her. She barely noticed the hallway, the bedroom they entered. All she could see was the bed. When he laid her down on it and stripped off her thong, she shivered. He ran a possessive hand down her hip, over her thigh and calf and down to her stiletto. “Nice shoes,” he murmured, kissing her. Thea reached for the straps at her ankles.

“Uh-uh.” He put a hand over hers. “Leave them on.” And then slipped onto the bed beside her.

The feel of his naked body was blissful, extravagant, a warm luxury. For a moment, she didn’t move, still absorbing the sensation in a sort of giddy disbelief. There was something glorious about closing her eyes to savor his weight against her as she sank back onto the mattress.

He leaned over to his bedside bureau. There was a crackle of foil as he sheathed himself. Then he poised himself over her, his face taut now with the need for control. She felt the startling slip of his cock against her still sensitive clit as he rubbed himself through the slickness. She looked up into his face. Anticipation threaded through her.

The time for finesse was gone. His eyes were hot, dark, driven.

Desperate.

“I want to be in you,” he whispered.

And with a sudden thrust of his hips, he was.

Thea cried out blindly. There was nothing like this, no sex toy, no vibrator, nothing that could make her feel this completeness, this connection, this reality. Hot and hard and silky soft and insistent, he was all the way inside her, filling her completely. His body surged against her, as much force as flesh, making her feel every least fraction of motion. And he went deep, so deep it wrenched a cry from her every time he sank himself home.